Presents
by illyria-pffyffin
Summary: On the occasion of his birthday, Pippin gives away presents to his friends.


**Presents**

"This is for you, Cousin," said Pippin. There was fondness and reverence in his voice as he handed Frodo a thin, square package wrapped in black cloth. "Open it."  
  
Frodo smiled at the impatience in his cousin's voice. "Here? In front of all our friends?" he said with mock consternation.   
  
"Yes!" replied Pippin eagerly. "It's not…" He blushed profusely before continuing in a barely audible whisper. "Well, Cousin, the Queen's here. I would not ask you to open it if it were not … fit to be seen in the presence of a lady."  
  
"It's not like your last birthday present then?" said Frodo, loud enough so Merry and Sam could hear it and begin to chortle while Pippin turned beet red.   
  
"No, no," said the young Took hastily. "Nothing like that."  
  
"Very well," said Frodo with a smile. He began to untie the cords that bound the package, Pippin impatiently lending a hand. At last, with a gesture akin to a flourish, Pippin pulled the cloth away to reveal a framed painting.  
  
"Legolas and Gimli said you were unconscious when they brought you to Ithilien," said Pippin, closely watching Frodo's awed expression. "So you might not have seen them. I did not see them either, Frodo; I was … preoccupied. But the artist said his fellow soldiers agreed that the likeness is very striking. It is beautiful, isn't it, Frodo?"  
  
Frodo ran his hand across the canvas surface, a look of disbelief on his face. He traced a finger along the fine details of the wings of the eagles on the painting. "They are magnificent," he whispered. "Like Bilbo always said."  
  
"Yes," said Pippin with satisfaction. "Do you like it, Frodo?"  
  
Frodo turned to Pippin and with a smile gave his cousin a gentle hug. "Yes, Pip," he said simply. "Thank you."  
  
"Who is the artist who made this lovely painting, Pippin?" asked Arwen. "Is he one of the palace painters?"  
  
Pippin immediately looked uncomfortable, to the discomfiture of his cousins and Sam. "Er … well, no, my lady," muttered Pippin. "Actually … he was …"  
  
Arwen tilted her head to the side expectantly. Frodo and Merry began to exchange worried glances. Knowing Pippin, they were prepared for the worse.  
  
"He was one of the soldiers who rode with us to Morannon, my lady," said Pippin, not looking at Arwen. "A very talented young man, but … but sadly lacking in renown."  
  
"How did you know he painted so well?" asked Aragorn who could not help being curious at Pippin's unease. "Did he take samples of his work to battle?"  
  
"Well …" Pippin looked around for help but only found more questioning glances from Gandalf, Gimli and Legolas; accusing stares from his cousins, and Sam's knowing smile. "Yes. But only a small one, as it was."  
  
"What painting was it? It must have been of such great beauty for you to know that the artist is so gifted," said Arwen.  
  
"Well, my lady, I did not see it myself," Pippin said slowly, but at a frown from Frodo, continued, more quickly, "Not in detail, that is. I only knew him because some of the younger soldiers spoke highly of him. They seemed to be impressed with his skills in painting … ladies …"  
  
Merry let out a tremendous cough by way of interruption. "I'm still waiting for my present, Pip!" he said ominously.  
  
Pippin gave him a grateful smile and laughingly stooped to pick another cloth-wrapped package from the pile in front of him. "Patience, Cousin," he chided before turning to Legolas. "This for you."  
  
The Elf received his present with a slight, gracious bow. "Thank you, Pippin," he said smilingly. "Shall I open it here, or will it be better to do it in private?"   
  
This time the laughter came not only from the hobbits, but also from the King, Queen, Gimli, Gandalf, and even Pippin himself. "You can open it here, Legolas," he said.   
  
Legolas quickly undid the knotted strings around the package and pulled the cloth aside. His hands were stilled mid-motion as he saw what lay inside the package. Gimli stared at his friend's face, taking in the surprise, longing and sadness in his ageless eyes. Then the dwarf reached out and pulled away the remaining cloth that still covered the stern of the beautiful wooden miniature ship ensconced amid the folds. The other parties in the sunny sitting room of Gandalf's house gasped in unison at the stunning details of the ship: the perfect curves of the hull, the gleaming metal anchor, the ornate carving on the cabin paneling.   
  
"Don't you like it, Legolas?" asked Pippin anxiously.   
  
Legolas looked up at the young hobbit. There was a sad smile on his lips when he reached for Pippin's hand, and placed it on his breast, uttering something in Sindarin.   
  
Pippin blinked.   
  
"He said you know the desire of his heart and he thanked you for understanding," translated Gimli quietly.  
  
"I did not know you speak Elvish, Gimli," said Gandalf.  
  
Gimli looked rather embarrassed and murmured something unintelligible.  
  
"He is an apt student," said Legolas with evident pride. "I taught him the rudiments of Sindarin when we rowed down the Anduin and he learned very quickly."  
  
"I need to know that he is not defaming me when he starts muttering in Elvish," growled Gimli.   
  
"Remarkable details on that ship, Pip," said Frodo with a sly smile, "You do have the most talented friends. I wonder what the artist usually carves when he is not putting together a miniature ship."  
  
Pippin laughed. "Oh, don't be so judgmental, Cousin," he said. "The artist is a retired ship-builder from Pelargir. Beregond introduced him to me, when he took me and Bergil to visit his relatives in Lossarnach."  
  
He picked a bulky parcel from the heap. "This is for Sam," he said, beaming.   
  
"Thank you, Mr. Pippin," said Sam. "I think I needn't ask for your permission to open this now."  
  
"Ah, get on with it, Sam!" snapped Pippin while the others laughed. He rubbed his hands expectantly while Sam unwrapped his gift.   
  
Sam sucked in a deep breath as he lifted a foot-high sculpture that gleamed like solid, polished cream in the honey-colored Sun that slanted through the tall windows. "Look, Mr. Frodo!" Sam breathed in amazement. "If this ain't the selfsame oliphaunt we saw in Ithilien! Look! He even has that basket with soldiers in it."  
  
"Indeed, Sam," said Frodo, admiring the sculpture in Sam's hands. "The resemblance is very astonishing."  
  
"And it's made from oliphaunt ivory," explained Pippin. "From one of the many which were slain in Pelennor."  
  
Sam's eyes widened and he shook his head wordlessly as he ran a finger along the delicate curve of the trunk of the ivory oliphaunt in his hand.   
  
"Now when you have children, you will be able to show them what an oliphaunt looks like," said Pippin. "Only, tell them that it was much, much bigger than this. Big enough to stomp Bag End to pieces if it went astray in Hobbiton. And…" he added with a wary glance toward Frodo and Merry. "it was sculpted by the same artist who made the bust of Aragorn for his coronation."  
  
When the laughter had died down somewhat, Pippin picked another bundle, also a large one, long and roughly tubular in shape. He handed it to Gandalf, hugging the wizard tight. "Thank you, Gandalf," he whispered.  
  
"Whatever for, lad?" asked Gandalf as the hobbit pulled away.   
  
"For putting in a good word for me to Lord Elrond so I could go with Frodo," said Pippin.  
  
"I had nothing to do with it, Peregrin," said Gandalf with mock sternness as his gnarled fingers tore at the wrapping. "I suppose the thought of feeding you if he had to lock you in prison as you suggested, or carrying you in a sack—kicking, screaming, biting—all the way to the Shire helped him to decide. He really had no choice but to grant your wish for… Fireworks?" Gandalf raised his eyes from the colorful collection of small fireworks on his lap to gaze at Pippin.   
  
"Now that you don't have to worry about me anymore, you can return to your fireworks business," said Pippin with a smile. "These are not nearly as splendid as yours, but they are quite delightful. The dragon one is extremely good."   
  
"How do you know that?" asked Merry.   
  
"Bergil and I tried it once," said Pippin. "We wanted to try more, but Bergil's grandmother was so distraught by the dragon—she was babbling, screaming and swooning—that we did not have the heart to carry on with the plan to light the flame shower one."  
  
"Back to fireworks business, eh?" muttered Gandalf, still looking at Pippin, a smile twitching the corners of his mouth. "I might do just that, my lad. Who knows? Thank you for this."  
  
Pippin reached for another package, a much smaller one this time, and turned to Gimli. "For you, Gimli," Pippin said, his eyes twinkling.  
  
"Thank you, Pippin," said the dwarf. He hastily tore the wrapping cloth to shreds only to discover a pot of yellowish cream. Gimli looked up at Pippin, whose smile was broadening suspiciously. The others craned their necks curiously to see what lay on Gimli's lap and when they saw it, they too started to smirk. "What is this, Pip?"  
  
"A very soothing cream for … soreness," said Pippin with all due innocence. "I know Legolas, like Gandalf, rides bareback and I know how it feels. I've been with Gandalf upon Shadowfax for days. The pain didn't bear description, and does affect a … er … delicate part of our anatomy, causing one to walk in a rather funny…"  
  
"Are you suggesting that I should apply this salve on my …" growled Gimli vehemently,  
  
Four hobbits and one elf shushed him to mortified silence, while Gandalf guffawed and the King and the Queen chortled.   
  
"I understand that you and Legolas are going to ride home together and visit the Glittering Cave and Fangorn Forest on your way," said Aragorn. "That's many a league upon Arod."  
  
Gimli glared at the King.  
  
"The cream has a very pleasant scent, Gimli," Arwen added sweetly. "The master herbalist in the Houses of Healing learned of its preparation from my brothers, who in turn was taught by my father. It has the virtues of Imladris and Gondor in it."  
  
Gimli achieved the unachievable feat of turning a deeper shade of crimson as he muttered a series of rapid, indecipherable Dwarvish, punctuated with explosive "…pleasant scent indeed!" and "…virtues of Imladris, hmpf!" The King and Gandalf raised their eyebrows, the Queen blushed, Legolas looked completely at sea and the hobbits sniggered.   
  
"Oh, really, Gimli," said Merry, wiping his eyes. "The least you could say is 'Well, thank you, Pip, for the thoughtful gift. I am looking forward to putting it to good use.'"  
  
This was greeted with a chorus of shrill howling laugh from the hobbits, and while the bigger people were more restrained, even Legolas could not help chuckling at his friend's obvious embarrassment.   
  
Pippin leaned toward Gimli and patted the dwarf's arm. "Don't mind them," he said, waving a dismissive gesture. "I used it too, once. It was worth a few chuckles from the healers, believe me."  
  
Gimli sighed and put the pot of cream beside him before reaching for his pipe. His rough, stubby fingers closed around a smoother, deeper bowl then the one he remembered putting on the rug beside him. Gimli picked the pipe and looked at it with astonished eyes. It was beautiful: long-stemmed – "So you'll not have your beard singed when you smoke," explained Pippin as Gimli's finger traced the slim, smooth stem. "The dragon here represents your home, and these are pictures of jewels, and this is the mallorn leaf of Lorien," said Pippin, eagerly pointing at the richly decorated bowl.   
  
"The palace jeweler knew nothing about pipe making," explained Pippin afterward as Gimli began to fill his new pipe. "But I said he should start to learn, because with Strider as his king, the _sweet galenas_ will soon be appreciated for more than its fragrant flowers. There is a lucrative business at hand. What do you think, Gimli? Has he done a good job with the pipe?"  
  
Gimli inhaled deeply and nodded. "Aye, he has," he said contentedly. "If he can't find market in Gondor, the dwarves will gladly do business with him. This pipe fits nicely in my hand. Perfect. But you're not going to take back the salve, are you? I notice that the others only get one present."  
  
Amid the gale of laughter that ensued, Pippin hugged Gimli and said, "No. You can keep your both presents. The pipe is a token of gratitude for hauling me from under that troll."  
  
"Only a pipe?" barked Gimli, but he smiled. "Throw in a month supply of Longbottom Leaf and I will owe you another rescue."  
  
"Dwarves!" said Legolas with a smile. "Calculating as always."  
  
"I'm waiting, Pip!" Merry groaned.   
  
Pippin sighed and shot a withering glance Merry's way. "You are too old to whine, Merry," he said scornfully. "I said patience."   
  
Merry—wearing a mournful expression—sank to his cushion beside Frodo's and the older hobbit chuckled as he patted his cousin's back. "He's the birthday lad, Merry. Today is the only time he can order us around. Bear with him a little."  
  
Pippin picked a big, lumpy package from the pile and handed it to Aragorn. The King received it and closed his hand around Pippin's as he looked into the hobbit's eyes and said, "Thank you, my friend."  
  
Pippin turned to look at Frodo, who gave him a conspiratorial smile; to Merry, who winked at him, and to Sam, who was trying hard not laugh.  
  
Aragorn pulled the wrapping cloth away and stared at the six pairs of socks lying there, each pair knitted beautifully from the softest wool and bearing the silver tree and seven stars emblem against a background of deep green, dark brown, black, grey, maroon and smoky blue.   
  
Aragorn stared at Pippin. "I need not command you to explain this, need I?" he said, unable to sound gruff when he was full of curiosity and suppresed laughter.  
  
Pippin reached for Frodo's hand and pressed it. Sam closely watched his master's expression. Gandalf noticed one of Merry's hand slipped behind Frodo and rested lightly on the Ring-bearer's back. "It was in Weathertop, after the Black Riders left," Pippin began. Aragorn quickly looked at Frodo, but whether it was because of the reassuring touch of his cousins or Frodo's own resolve that he would not let the shadows of the memory of pain darken Pippin's birthday, he looked untroubled by the mention of Weathertop. Frodo's hand answered Pippin's grip, his eyes rested on Pippin's face as the younger hobbit continued his tale. "We looked for Frodo and found him on the ground, unconscious."  
  
"He was so cold, was Mr. Frodo," recalled Sam with a shudder. "We thought that he was dead for sure."   
  
Merry reached his other hand and gripped Sam's trembling one. Frodo extended his and closed it around Merry's and Sam's twined fingers.  
  
"Strider... I mean … Aragorn disappeared without telling us what to do," Pippin went on. "We later knew that he had to leave to see if the Black Riders were going to return to attack us again. But at that time we thought that he had abandoned us."  
  
Aragorn looked remorseful, but he said nothing and let Pippin continue.  
  
"We were confused and afraid," said Pippin. "We could do nothing but crowd near the fire, around Frodo. Then Merry said the least we could do was treat Frodo's wound, so that if Strider did not return when morning came, and if the road seemed safe, we could perhaps carry Frodo back to Bree. The important thing was that he could survive the night and it seemed impossible that he would hold out if he remained icy cold."  
  
"When we insisted on following Frodo on his journey, we thought we were prepared for anything," said Merry. "We could brave any danger, withstand any pain. But we found that we were far from ready."  
  
"Merry's hands shook so much when he went to get more firewood from the pile, that he dropped some wood onto his toes," said Pippin.  
  
"Sam nearly slipped into the spring when he went to fill the kettle so we could boil some water to bathe Frodo's wound," added Merry while his hand moved gently to rub Frodo's back.   
  
Aragorn raised his eyebrows. While Frodo seemed calm when his friends were talking about him, he became troubled when they spoke of their own suffering. The Ring-bearer's face had turned slightly pale at the mention of Merry and Sam getting hurt.  
  
"And there didn't seem to be enough blankets to warm Mr. Frodo up," muttered Sam, looking at Frodo. "We piled ours on him and still he was cold and shivering."  
  
"His hands and feet were getting blue from cold," said Merry with a shiver. "But we had no more blankets."  
  
"So I went to your pack, Strider," said Pippin, "and rummaged there, and I found the bag of clean, rolled up socks."  
  
"At first we did not know what they were," said Merry, a smile dawning on his face, "until Pip noticed that they looked like the Big People's boots, only limp, and made of wool. So we pulled two pairs each on Frodo's feet, and another two pairs on his hands. They fit nicely. If they had been gloves, we would not have been able to shove Frodo's hand in. He was till clutching the Ring in his right fist."  
  
"They helped him keep warm," said Sam with a chuckle. "He did not shiver so much after we put them socks on him."  
  
Arwen laughed. "I am glad the spare socks I urged Estel to bring were useful."  
  
"Did you knit them yourself, my lady?" asked Pippin.  
  
Arwen smiled when she nodded. "And who had knitted these lovely socks you have gifted Estel with, Pippin?"  
  
Merry swallowed, looking uneasy. "It was … a friend."  
  
"Lady Eowyn," said Pippin brightly. Merry grimaced while Sam and Frodo laughed.  
  
"We had to ask her, my lady," said Merry contritely. "None of us knows how to knit, let alone how to knit something to be worn on the feet."  
  
"She is gifted with the needles," said Arwen smilingly. "Perhaps we might share knitting lore when Estel and I visit Rohan."  
  
Pippin giggled.   
  
"Whatever is funny, Pip?" asked Frodo.   
  
"Oh, I'm sorry," said Pippin, still chuckling. "I just remembered Mamma and her knitting club friends. They used to come to tea every Wednesday to knit and gossip. Mamma asked me to come once, so I could try on the coat she was making for me, and these ladies were busy comparing their husbands'…"  
  
"Pip!" put in Merry in a strangled voice. "I believe you have a present for me?"  
  
Laughter rippled in the room as Pippin picked the last package on the rug—a slim, long one—and gave it to Merry.   
  
"At last!" said Merry, hurriedly stripping off the wrapping cloth.  
  
"And before anyone asks," said Pippin, looking around, "Gimli helped me make this present for Merry."  
  
Merry gasped, staring in amazement at the sword on his lap. He reverently lifted it, marveling at the perfect fit of the hilt in his grip, pulled the sword out of its black, ornate scabbard, and finally examined the smooth, gleaming blade, adorned with an intricate tracery of stylized evermind flowers of Rohan. Bright ribbons of reflected Sun light played across Merry's face as he studied and admired the sword from different angles.  
  
"It's beautiful," he breathed.  
  
"Now don't you go around stabbing Riders in black and ruining a perfectly good blade like you did with the last sword, do you hear?" said Pippin in imitation of Merry's grandfather. "Do that again and see if I'll not send you to battle with your mother's kitchen knife strapped to your belt."  
  
It was sometime before Merry recovered from his overwhelming joy and wonder enough to join the laughter.  
  
"But Mr. Pippin," Sam said suddenly. "There's the Queen and you've got no present for her."  
  
"Well, what say you to that, cousin?" said Frodo. "I can hardly call it fair if you can come up with two gifts for Gimli and six for Aragorn, but failed to get one for Lady Evenstar."  
  
Pippin snorted as he stood and walked up to Arwen. He bowed gracefully, savoring the attention that was lavished upon him by three pairs of wary hobbits' eyes and four pairs of amused eyes that belonged to a man, a dwarf, an elf and a wizard.   
  
"My apologies for not preparing a more suitable present for you, my lady," said Pippin gravely. "But Cousin Bilbo once told us the story of how Cousin Frodo often appeared in the kitchen of one unsuspecting farmer's wife…"  
  
A fierce frown began to crease Frodo's brow.   
  
"…and there he would stay, singing songs if you would believe me, your majesty," continued Pippin blithely. "Yes, my sedate, dignified older cousin, singing songs along with the farmer's wife…"  
  
"Is that before or after you moved to Hobbiton, sir?" asked Sam.  
  
Frodo was glaring at Pippin, who pointedly ignored him.   
  
"…for apple and blackberry pies," the young Took concluded.   
  
"I think I know who the farmer's wife is," Merry began, but, noticing the thunderous look of Frodo's eyes, he coughed and said, "But perhaps it would be wiser to keep her reputation intact…" This only earned him a murderous gaze from Frodo.  
  
"So," Pippin went on heedlessly, "if Cousin Frodo can give a song for pies…"  
  
"I'm sorry to contradict you, Pip," cut in Frodo. "But I was not singing for pies. I happened to know some of the songs she loved. My mother…"  
  
"…I see no reason not to gift you with a song," Pippin ended cheerfully.   
  
His cousins looked horrified. Sam sighed. Aragorn raised an eyebrow. Gandalf looked amused. Legolas and Gimli exchanged doubtful glances.   
  
Arwen smiled. "A song will be the most beautiful gift you can give me, Pippin."  
  
Pippin beamed brightly, stood straight and cleared his throat. Frodo turned worriedly to Merry. Merry's eyes, however, was fixed on Pippin and he was muttering in panic, "What is the lad going to sing now?" Sam smiled to see the two cousins bracing themselves to jump at Pippin and silence him by any means necessary.   
  
"Surely his voice is not so terrible?" said Gimli. "I've heard the lad sing. He has a nice enough voice."  
  
"It's not the voice, Gimli," muttered Gandalf. "But the song."  
  
"But the hobbits' songs are mostly about food and bed," said Gimli perplexed.   
  
"Precisely why we should worry," said Gandalf tersely. "An unsavory combination: food, bed. And Peregrin Took."  
  
Pippin drew a deep breath in and started to sing. His voice, high and clear, rose to fill the room with the soft and warm cadence of a song unlike any that the hobbits were familiar with.   
  
"Why, it's an Elvish song, sir!" exclaimed Sam, but at a gesture from Merry, he stopped and looked at Frodo.  
  
Arwen's eyes had widened and softened at the very first notes that Pippin sang. Her expression became more and more relaxed as the song continued; her eyes touched by a note of wistfulness and remembered joy. Aragorn had been watching her and at some point in the song reached out and took her hand in his. Arwen closed her eyes and slowly leaned onto her husband's shoulder. Aragorn gently put his arm around her and stroked her dark hair softly. The ray of the afternoon Sun fell on her face and was scattered by the drop of tears that hung glittering on her eyelashes.   
  
But the reaction of the Ring-bearer was even more striking. Merry noticed how Frodo's breath became steadily deeper and longer as though he was falling asleep. Frodo closed his eyes slowly, the tension in his frame melting away, the lines of age and weariness drained from his face. The others had not been aware of the subtle guardedness and rigidity in Frodo's stance until they saw them actually disappearing, leaving Frodo looking completely relaxed and peaceful for the first time in months. He slowly tilted his head back as though he was going lie down, his lips parted slightly in a smile of longing and wonder. The light streaming from the window bathed his face and he looked beautiful; young and yet aged, innocent and yet wise, glowing like a Sun-kissed flower.  
  
Pippin nearly stopped singing when he saw Frodo's reaction to the song, but Aragorn bid him to go on. The others fell silent, listening and watching. There was a hint of tears in Gandalf's eyes.   
  
The song reached its end.   
  
"It was a lullaby," sighed Frodo, slowly opening his eyes. "A very lovely one." He had once again assumed the cautious and secretive bearing, though his eyes appeared calmer and more relaxed.   
  
"My mother sang that to me when I was very little," said the Queen, wiping her eyes. "I have never heard that song again since Mother departed for the Undying Land." She took Pippin's cheek in her hand and softly kissed him on the forehead.   
  
"Thank you, Pippin," she said, letting him go. "You brought back many sweet and beautiful memories."   
  
"Yes," whispered Aragorn to Pippin with a slight gesture toward Frodo when the older hobbit appeared to have his attention somewhere else. "Your song was a gift to us all. I believe it was better than the healing my hands can deliver. I have never seen Frodo so at peace since Cormallen."  
  
Pippin gazed at his cousin. "It has been long, has it not? Perhaps I should sing more often."  
  
"Where did you learn to sing in Sindarin?" asked Merry.  
  
"In Lothlorien," said Pippin. "I heard Lady Galadriel singing it when we were there."  
  
"The Lady?" gasped Gimli, suddenly interested. "Tell us more, Master Peregrin."  
  
And while Pippin regaled his friends with the tale of how once he found the Lady sitting in a garden with her maidens, singing softly and sewing what looked like grey-green cloaks, Sam leaned toward his master. "What did it say, Mr. Frodo?" he asked. "What did the song tell?"  
  
Frodo smiled. "The sea, Sam," he replied dreamily, "The sea."

_fin_

_A/N: Written for Marigold's Tale Challenge 3_


End file.
